Enough
by Argyle.S
Summary: Hermione finds someone else. Ron finds comfort in his best friend's arms.


Pairing: Harry/Ron Some Ron/Hermione, Hermione/Ginny, Harry/Ginny and Harry/Hermione

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter and all associated characters, places, spells etc. belong to J. K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them for a use I'm rather sure she wouldn't approve of. No money is being made.

Warnings: Het. Slash. Semi-poly ship. Dram-queen!Harry. Ron's POV.

* * *

I suppose, if you want to blame anyone, it's my fault. Some people romanticize it, Hermione even showed me a novel about the war where Harry and I were secretly pining for each other from the moment we met and she was some scarlet woman out to steal Harry away from his soul mate. After I finished laughing, the three of us sued for royalties. It's not that any of us needed the money, but you don't call our Hermione a scarlet woman.

The truth is, it only happened because I'm a ruddy coward. I could walk into an Acromantula's nest for Hermione. I could walk into a Basilisk's den for my sister. I could stand between Harry and a mass murder. I could fight death eaters. I could let myself get clubbed half to death to protect the Philosopher's Stone. But the time I really needed it, my courage failed me.

I'll tell you right now, Harry Potter wasn't my first love. Despite what Hermione will tell you, neither was Quidditch. Ask any Gryffindor who was at Hogwarts during the '94 Triwizard tournament. They'll tell you I had it bad for one Hermione Granger. I still do.

We could have been happy together, but like I said, I'm a ruddy coward.

Okay, one time in my whole life I was a coward.

I was in love with her. I knew it. She knew it. Everyone knew it. That she was in love with me was only slightly less obvious. After all, she only announced it in the middle of the common room that one time during fourth year.

I wanted to say something. I tried desperately to say something. But every time I started to, this little voice in the back of my head that sounded remarkably like a certain ferret would ask me what she could possibly see in me. I wasn't brilliant and good-looking like Bill. I wasn't as athletic as Charlie. I wasn't funny like the twins. I wasn't rich like Harry or Vicky.

So, every time I tried to talk to her about it, I found an excuse not to. "She's busy with her homework," or, "Harry's in a mood, I need to sort that out." I suppose I thought she'd wait forever. After all, everyone knew we would get together eventually.

Apparently, no one mentioned that to Ginny.

It's not a sight I'd fond of remembering, but it's one I can't forget. Hermione pressed up against the wall of the prefect's bathroom, her shirt open down the front, her left leg hooked over a shoulder, her knickers dangling from the ankle, skirt bulged out in the front with red hair dangling out from under it. The worst part was the look of complete bliss on her face. I didn't speak to either of them for months.

Surprisingly, it was Harry who got me through it. He'd been through hell at that point. Sirius had died about nine months earlier and he had this look in his eyes. Not many people could look in those eyes anymore. Me, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Remus, a couple of the professors, Hagrid and my dad. Before we finished school, Hermione and I would have matching looks of our own. She calls them "thousand yard stares". Stupid muggle term if you ask me. That look's got nothing to do with how far you can see.

Harry caught me in the changing room after a shower.

"What the hell do you want," I asked.

"You've got to let it go Ron."

I belted him. I cursed him (with my mouth, not my wand). I cursed them. I yelled and screamed and swore and said horrible, horrible things about Hermione and Ginny both. Harry just stood there, rubbing the darkening bruise until my anger was spent and I was sitting on one of the benches hyperventilating.

Harry's never been much of a touchy-feely bloke. That's why I was so surprised when he put his arms around me that day.

"You've got to let it go, Ron."

I'd used up all my energy raging. I didn't have any let to hold back what I was feeling. I let out six years worth of hopes and dreams, five years worth of love and a lifetime of insecurity, frustration and disappointment that day.

At the time, I wondered how he knew what I needed. Looking back, it's blindingly obvious. Who else has more experience dealing with loss?

It wasn't the last time I'd weep like a girl over Hermione Granger, but after that, I could look at her again and not feel like someone was grinding my heart under their boot. After that, I was able to talk to her. I asked her why. She looked at me with tears running down her face and told me.

"You never said anything Ron. She did."

I figured out when it happened latter. Around Halloween they'd started acting a little odd around each other. Then one night in November Hermione had come down from the girl's dorm and sat down next to me. She'd just stared until I looked up from my homework, then she'd asked, "Are you ever going to say anything Ron?"

I almost did, but that little ferret voice spoke up first. Instead of looking up and saying "I love you Hermione," I said, "What are you on about?"

She shook her head and went back upstairs. The next morning, and ever since, Ginny sat with us at breakfast.

I wasn't okay with it for a long time. I tolerated it. I was friends with Hermione, I was a brother to Ginny, but only as long as I didn't have to see it.

That summer, things got bad. Hermione came straight to the Burrow, and every time I had to watch them sneak off into the woods together, I felt sick.

It was Mum who turned it around. I walked into the kitchen one afternoon and she pulled me into a hug and said, "I know you had your heart set on her, but you'll find someone, you know."

I hate it when Mum's observant. I didn't speak to her for the rest of the week. I was too embarrassed. A seventeen year old shouldn't cry in front of his Mum.

Harry got there on his birthday. It helped. Every morning, we would go up to the paddock, draw our wands, and try to kill each other. Most mornings, Hermione would join us. After we ate lunch, she'd disappear for three or four hours. I knew where she was getting off to.

Ugh. Bad choice of words.

Harry didn't have quite so easy a time after lunch.

I suppose you could call August 10th our anniversary, though it's not the day we celebrate. Since that day with Mum, I'd been getting less and less jealous of them, but I'd caught Hermione and Ginny snogging in the garden and I'd spent the whole morning feeling like I'd been kicked in the gut. When Hermione left after lunch I was in a right state.

As Harry and I dueled, I got closer and closer, more and more determined to crack his shield charms. I made a tactical error. I got too close to him and he fired off a Disarming Charm from inside my own shield. My wand went flying.

Before he could curse me, I stepped forward and twisted his arm. He dropped his ward with a yelp and swung at me. I fell and pulled him down on top of me, then flipped us over and used my weight to try to pin him. He wrapped his legs around me and tried to use them to wrench me off him.

Except it pressed a certain portion of his anatomy against a certain portion of mine. We worth both dripping with sweat, addled with adrenalin and neither of us had ever been laid in our lives. I was suddenly very aware of how good it felt having a strong pair of legs wrapped around my waist, of how good Harry smelled, and how incredibly horny I was. Harry went from trying to push me off to dry fucking me between one twist of his legs and another. I didn't complain. I just ground my dick against his as hard as I could.

He grabbed my shoulders and hung on. He closed his eyes and let out a grunt and I felt wet seeping through the front of my jeans. It took me a little longer to come, but not by much.

Two Drying Charms later, we were back to dueling.

I suppose most guys would have freaked out after dry humping their best mate. After seeing my kid sister go down on my would-be girlfriend, I was kind of past the whole gay thing. Besides, I wouldn't be the first in my family to take to shagging boys. When she found out, I told Mum if she wanted me to be straight she shouldn't have named me after Uncle Billius.

But the point is, I didn't freak out.

Instead, that night, I lay in my bed thinking. I thought about why I loved Hermione. She was my best friend. She would do things for me and Harry she wouldn't do for herself or anyone else. She was fun to be with. There were a lot of reasons. Somehow, the fact that she was a girl wasn't on the list.

I'd fallen for my best mate once. Why not again? Hell, Harry and I got along a lot better than I got on with Hermione. I'd probably spend less time on the outs.

I might have dismissed the whole thing as hormones, depression and bad judgment, except that nagging little ferret voice started asking what Harry could see in me. That nagging little voice that had cost me Hermione.

I got up and slipped onto Harry's camp bed.

He woke with a start and looked at me with a mix of surprise and fear in his eyes. I was scared out of my wits, but the one time I'd let my courage falter, I'd lost something I really wanted. I wasn't even sure I wanted this, but I'd be damned if I was going to repeat my mistake.

I worked the tips of my fingers under the waistband of Harry's boxers, then stopped. He looked down, then back at me. The fear vanished, replaced by arousal. After a few seconds, he nodded.

I slipped my hand inside and grasped him. He closed his eyes and started thrusting up into my hand. I was a little shocked, but I just started working my hand up and down, doing my best to match him. I was a bit clumsy, a bit freaked out, and very, very hard.

It lasted a lot longer than the frantic thrusting that afternoon. Harry's hips rolled slowly for a long time before he picked up the pace. When he did, I matched it as best I could, until eventually I was stroking him so fast I wasn't sure how I wasn't giving him friction burns. He came in my hand with a low moan.

He switched sides with me so he could use his right hand to return the favor. I know he was clumsy, but I enjoyed it enough to get off.

After that, we developed a new routine. After Hermione left, we'd have a couple of duels to make sure she was out of ear shot, then we'd end up pressed against a tree with our hands in each other's pants. At night, we'd strip off our clothes and grind against each other.

Those first few weeks were about sex and about proving my own courage to myself. There isn't a guy in the world who hasn't thought about getting a blow job. When that ferret voice suggested I didn't have it in me, I stripped Harry's trousers off and took him in my mouth in the middle of the paddock. I was probably even clumsier than I'd been with my hand. I gagged a few times. When he told me he was about to come I wasn't fast enough getting clear and got squirted in the eye for it. It burned. I wore that burning in my eye like a badge. I'd gotten him off.

The ferret voice scoffed. Said if I'd really had guts I'd have let him finish in my mouth. That night I did.

Harry's first attempt at a blowjob was an unmitigated disaster. Having to stop and apply a Healing Charm always kills the mood. A couple of hours later, he went much more slowly and was much more successful.

It didn't stop when we went back to school either. Broom closets, the Quidditch pitch, the changing rooms, the showers, both our beds, the Room of Requirement.

I didn't know what to call it. We certainly weren't dating. There were no grand declarations of love from either of us. But every time I thought were might just be shag buddies it hurt. When I caught him eyeing Susan Bones' bum one day I pitched a fit that had half the school wondering if I'd lost my mind.

That night, when Harry climbed on top of me and pressed his cock against mine I was angry. I wrapped him legs around him like he had me that first time and thrust up against him more and more forcefully until he slipped. As he moved to get back in place the head of his cock brushed my arse. We finished that night in the same angry frenzy we'd started, but I knew I wanted something more. I wanted Harry to fuck me.

I never did apologize for the Susan Bones incident. Harry never looked again, but I had other things on my mind. I knew enough to know this wasn't something I wanted to bugger up.

No pun intended.

In the end, I killed two birds with one stone. I went to the fountain of all knowledge. It's kind of strange asking a girl you're still nuts over advice on letting your mutual best friend bugger you rotten, but the moment that ferret voice said I couldn't do it, I dragged Hermione into an empty classroom, told her exactly what I wanted, and asked her if she knew how I should go about it.

If the grin Ginny wore for the next week is any indication, I'd think the idea of Harry and I together turned Hermione on a bit. I don't blame her. If it weren't my sister, I probably would have asked Hermione if I could watch sometimes. It would be worth getting hexed just to see the look on her face. Then again, she might have said yes, just to spite me.

Hermione, as always, came through for me. I can guess why she knew how to brew lube potions, I get the gloves, but I don't want to know why she had condoms. Some details of my sister's sex life I don't ever want to know.

That novel I mentioned earlier? It had Harry and I making love for the first time on the eve of the "final battle" only after we'd declared our love for each other and pledged our undying fidelity. Our first time lasted all night, included multiple orgasms for both of us, and was far more refreshing than a full night's sleep.

Right. And I never did get a leg over with Hermione, and Harry and Ginny never so much as looked at each other. The kids were the result of immaculate conceptions and the four of us share a house because none of us can afford the rent by ourselves.

Want to buy a tamed dragon?

Our first time sucked. Harry couldn't get it in and went limp in frustration. I tried to get him hard again and ended up getting him off instead. When we finally did manage to get tab H into slot R, the whole thing lasted for a minute and a half before I shoved Harry off and raced to the loo.

It took three more attempts before either one of us got off on it, but once my bum figured out that it did not need the loo, I took to carrying a box of condoms and a bottle of lube everywhere.

I suppose it sounds all mushy and girly, but there's something wonderfully comforting about having Harry inside me. Fast and rough, slow and gentle... It doesn't matter. When he's inside me, strange as it sounds it's like the warmest, tightest, most comforting hug in the world.

It's also hot as hell. There's this tight, stretching sensation when he first pushes in that lasts the whole time and each stroke feels like his tongue sliding over the head of my cock and his arms wrapping around me all at once. It's more intense that a blow job, its more intense than being inside him.

Did I mention it's hot? I get rock hard just thinking about it. My cock twitches every time he thrusts into me. My eyes roll back in my head and all I can remember how to say is "fuck me" or "don't stop" or "bloody hell".

Sometimes he'll grab my cock while he's fucking me. Sometimes I let him when I just want to get off quickly. Feeling him pounding into me while his hand strokes me is bloody brilliant. Sometimes though, when I want a nice, slow shag, I won't let him touch it. I can get off just from getting fucked, but he has to work for it and sometimes, I want it to last forever.

Which is what got me into trouble.

See, in a way, that novel was almost right. Harry didn't say he loved me until *after* he killed Voldemort. I, on the other hand, said it a long time before.

Our first disastrous attempt at a real shag was Halloween night. I nearly fucked everything up Christmas day.

After we'd had Christmas dinner we slipped up to my room for a nice Christmas shag. I'd long since gotten over the need for that one finger, two finger bullocks Hermione suggested. When I want to get fucked, I want it right then. Harry obligingly rolled on a condom, lubed up, and slipped inside me. When he reached for my cock I grabbed his hands, shook my hand, and said, "Nice and slow, Harry."

He nodded and planted his hands on either side of my head and kissed me. He'd gotten really good at that too. He shoved his tongue into my mouth in time with his thrusts into my arse, fucking me at both ends. I bleeding loved it. It didn't hurt that each time he thrust into me my cock got ground against his abs.

It seemed to last forever, but I finally came and he looked down at me and asked, "Can I?"

I nodded and he cut loose, fucking me hard and fast. One of those things that only happens when you're seventeen happened. I started getting hard again. Harry saw it and grabbed me, stroking me with his hand. I came again right after he did. Then he collapsed on top of me. I like it when he does it. He never did get very big after all.

So, I lay there, spent, with an equally spent Harry on top of me, thinking about how happy I was, and my brain had to kick in. The bloody thing has never been that reliable. It reminded me that I'd lost Hermione because I didn't tell her how I felt. I didn't want to make the same mistake again.

"I love you, Harry."

The sodding prat was out the door before he even had his pants zipped.

It was weeks before he'd speak to me again. I was going spare. For the first time I cried on Hermione instead of over her. She and Harry had the biggest row I think the two of them ever had over the way Harry was treating me. Ginny Bat Bogied him. Twice.

Did I mention I love my sister?

Finally, the night before Valentines day, the git climbed into my bed holding the condoms and lube, Imperturbed the curtains, and shagged me within an inch of my life. I let him. He doesn't say a word until he's cleaned us up with a couple of charms and disposed of the condom with a vanishing spell. Then he looked down at me and said, "Don't love me, Ron. Don't let anyone love me. I don't want anyone else to die."

Fucking drama queen.

The next day we skived off Divination and I slid into him for the first time. It went better than the first time he did me. It only took two tries before we both got our rocks off. By the time March rolled around, we were fighting over who got to bottom. Harry can turn into a real do me queen. Except, if I let him, after a while, he starts to get this stupid guilt complex about how he doesn't deserve all the attention.

Did I mention he's a fucking drama queen?

Well, he's my drama queen.

After Voldemort was dead, the git snogged me. On the battlefield. Right in front of the entire order. With Voldemort still smoldering body at our feet. It was worth it just to see the look on Snape's face, but still, he could have let me break it to my Mum gently. I forgave him though. As soon as he removed his tongue from my esophagus he told me he loved me.

Of course, the war didn't end right away. The "final battle" was anything but. But the three of us, Harry, Hemione and I, were too tired to fight it anymore. We'd been at it for seven years. Harry bought a house in the country and we wrapped every protection we could think of on it, up to and including the Fidelius charm. No one could find it unless we wanted them to, and even then it was a bit tricky. Ginny joined us there for the summer. She finished Hogwarts then joined us permanently.

For a good long time the three of us hid from the world. Ginny hid with us because she wanted to be close to Hermione. Eventually, it got boring. Eventually, I wanted to see a bloody Quidditch match. Eventually, we stopped hiding and started living again.

I'm the father of Hermione and Ginny's kids. Ginny's the mother of Harry and my kids. That's how we swapped partners for the first time, but afterwards it didn't seem such a big deal. I know Harry and Ginny still occasionally have a go. So do Hermione and I. To the best of my knowledge, Hermione and Harry tried it exactly once and decided they'd rather keep it platonic.

It's not perfect. It's not even what I would have chosen. I've even heard it called "fucked up", but then, that's a good description of all four of us. With all our scars, it's the best we could hope for. After all, we're happy.

And that's enough.


End file.
